


Competent, Gorgeous, and Certifiably Insane

by pippen2112



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Fingerfucking, Inconvenient Dirty Thoughts, Jim with a beard, Khan being deliciously evil, Kink Meme, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Situational Humiliation, Submission, Threesome, Verbal Humiliation, Voice Kink, reluctant!bottom!Bones, scruffy!Jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For all his faults, Leonard McCoy was, if nothing else, a brutally honest man.  Unfortunately, sometimes honesty would not help him. </p><p>UPDATE 7.26.2013 - Due to popular demand, I'm expanding on this fic.  </p><p>For the STID Kink Meme Prompt:  http://strek-id-kink.livejournal.com/1695.html?thread=86431#t86431</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the STID Kink Meme Prompt: http://strek-id-kink.livejournal.com/1695.html?thread=86431#t86431
> 
> “I think I'd like to see this story: Bones find himself with a practicaly uncontrollable urge to squirm in his suddenly too tight pants (after the scene where he gets that sample of blood) and is forced to give himself a stern lecture regarding all the reasons why he does not go for gorgeous and certifiably insane and that if he'd wanted that he could have always taken Kirk up on any number of drunken offers over the years at the Academy.
> 
> Bonus points if Bones has to excuse himself to take care of a certain problem because thinking "Kirk" and "Khan" in the same sentence is a bad idea if you don't want too tight pants becoming a serious problem.”
> 
> UPDATE 7.26.2013 - So in writing the continuation of this work and because of the gaps in my memory as to exactly what happens when in Into Darkness, I've ended up taking the canon passage of time and throwing it out the window. Just a friendly forewarning. :)

For all his faults, Leonard McCoy was, if nothing else, a brutally honest man.  It was part of what made him such an effective and efficient doctor.  Sure, he wasn’t the most popular medical professional in ‘Fleet history, but he prided himself on his honest assessment of himself and others.  Well, on any other day, he’d pride himself on those qualities.  Right now, he’d give his left nut for just an ounce of self-deception.

 

He’s headed back to Sickbay at a brisk pace, a sample of blood for analysis clenched in his hand, a scowl furrowing his brow, and a flush staining his cheeks.  He’s moving quickly, sending young ensigns scurrying in all directions as he storms down the corridors and hoping none of them notice exactly how strained the front of his pants have become.

 

He just needs to get back to Sickbay, he thinks; the turbolift is in sight.  He’s almost home free. Well, as free as you get on a hobbled starship on the edge of the neutral zone.  Seriously, what was the Admiralty thinking?  McCoy shook his head as he pressed the button to call up the lift.  And what was Jim thinking?  The kid was gonna get himself and all his crew killed with all these stunts. 

 

The thought made his half-hard cock pulse.  McCoy groaned in frustration.  Of all pig-headed Academy brats he had to serve with, why, oh why had he cast his lot in with Jim Kirk?  He must be harboring some unconscious strain of masochism that he never learned how to subdue.  It wasn’t enough that the kid was handsome—even three-sheets-to-the-wind drunk on the Riverside shuttle, McCoy had noticed that Jim was ten kinds of attractive—but in the four years he’d known the now-captain, he’d learned that Jim was charismatic, confident, stupidly intelligent, fiercely loyal and one of the most determined sons-of-bitches he’d ever met. 

 

If McCoy hadn’t been smitten enough—that brutal sense of honesty never failed to kick him in the crotch, especially with his not-so-tiny crush on his best friend—walking in on Kirk mid-coitus ump-teen different times only added fuel to the proverbial fire.  Yeah, that image had been burned into his retinas, flashing in the forefront of his mind on every inconvenient occasion.  And yes, more than once, he’d imagined lying flat on his back, enjoying numerous bodily pleasures at the other end of Jim’s dick, only to have the object of his unrequited fantasies walk into their shared dorm and effectively kill his buzz.

 

On the plus side, it had made his right hand’s work slightly easier; having the image of Jim solid, muscled back and clenching buttocks as he thrust into some nameless co-ed lingering at the back of his head made those lonely nights only mildly more pleasant.  Mildly.

 

The turbolift dings ahead of him, and the doors slide open to reveal an empty compartment. Thank fucking God. McCoy quickly steps into the lift and selects the appropriate deck before his thoughts drift off again.

 

He sure as hell hopes Jim knows what he’s doing down in the brig.  In the event that he’s bit off more than he can chew, McCoy hopes that Spock can talk him out of doing anything too reckless.  Whatever he may say about the green-blooded hobgoblin, Spock can keep Jim balanced.  Which is a damn good thing because Harrison, or Khan, or whatever his name is doesn’t seem so stable. 

 

And once again, his rebellious cock twitches.  The fucker.  McCoy glares down at his groin.  The traitorous little bastard is gonna be the death of him because as much as he is loath to admit it, Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome is pushing all his buttons.  The commanding presence.  The piercing eyes.  The impossibly deep voice. 

 

Yeah, he can practically hear that voice coiling around his name, hissing dirty words until he’s begging for more. He can imagine bending over for Khan, taking the (presumed) heft of Khan’s cock inside of him, moaning for more like some young cockslut until his prick twitches and comes into Khan’s brutal grip.  A little piece of his soul shudders in abject humiliation at the thought. 

 

The doors open and McCoy stomps off toward Sickbay, trying to put those thoughts of ridiculously attractive men out of his mind and focus on his duties.  He’s got blood to analyze and patients to tend to.  He just passes off the sample to one of his nurses with brusque instructions and reminds himself that he doesn’t do competent, gorgeous, and certifiably insane, no matter what face it wears.  If he did, he would have thrown caution to the wind and followed through with one of Jim drunken offers while they were back at the Academy.  He has rules for a reason, so that means no Jim Kirk and no Khan.

 

McCoy pauses midway through a patient’s chart, eyes glaze, mouth slack, and dick spasming against his fly.  Jim and Khan.  His pants are suddenly too damn tight.  Dammit, he hadn’t even considered that possibility, and now his brain is short-circuiting as every drop of blood in his body rushes south in step with the flash of pornographic images that crash across his consciousness.  Two sets of hands tugging on his hair.  Shit.  Two mouths kissing, licking, and sucking on his skin.  Shit.  Two weeping cocks in need of attention.  Shit shit.

 

He hands off the chart to a nurse as he practically runs to his office, locks the door behind him, and struggles to undo his fly with shaking hands.  All too quickly, he grips his dick too-roughly, pumps twice, and rolls his balls in his left hand before he spills to thoughts of Khan gripping his hair and shoving his mouth down onto Jim’s prick—Jim’s throaty groans echoing around him—as he lazily pushes in and out of McCoy’s tight hole, all the while whispering filthy words in his ear. 

 

As he slumps against the door, hand covered in his own seed and head still spinning from blood redistributing too quickly, McCoy wonders if his brutal honesty is going to let him live this down. 

 

Not likely.  He is so thoroughly fucked the next time he sees Jim.

 

-FIN-


	2. Chapter 2

After blowing his load to thoughts of being shared by his best friend and the psychopath currently held in their brig, Leonard McCoy takes a few minutes to himself.  He slumps down the door to his office until his naked butt hits the cold metal floor and stares blankly at the corner of his desk.  Oh, he should not have done that for too many reasons to count.  He should have left well enough alone and thought about dismembered corpses and space microbes until his erection wilted in his pants instead of indulging, especially while on duty and with Jim likely to pop in for information on Khan’s blood analysis.  Fuck, his dick makes a valiant effort to twitch at the mention of the two men, but he’s physically worn out.  Maybe if he’s very lucky, said exhaustion will make dealing with his confounded penis.

 

Several hours later, after he’s been damn near blown to smithereens by a torpedo-covered cryotube, he’s running on caffeine and nervous jitters.  Khan’s bloodwork’s come back, but he can’t believe the biomarkers he’s reading.  He’s squinting at the PAD when Jim bursts into the infirmary, followed by a team of redshirts in formation around Khan.  The man’s wrists are handcuffed in front of him, but he heard from Jim, Spock, and Uhura that the man held his own in hand-to-hand combat against Klingons; at best, the bonds are empty symbols.

 

Unfortunately, it’s around this point that his brain short-circuits.  Because Jim and Khan are standing in his Sickbay, Jim moving with quick, energetic motions and Khan watching everybody with his cool gaze.  Fuck, he thinks as his dick starts to harden.  He instantly starts moving, clearing a path for the security team and their prisoner—it’s so much safer for him to think in general terms—and approaching the captain with his usual huff of annoyance.

 

“What’s going on, Jim?” McCoy asks, hoping that nobody notices the way his voice catches on the captain’s name.

 

“We’re under attack,” the captain explains quickly.  “Dreadnaut class vessel.”

 

His brow furrows.  “I thought Starfleet hadn’t yet commissioned one of those.”

 

“So did everyone.  I’m gonna try to buy us some time.”

 

McCoy nods, willing the blood to rush back to his head.  “What do you need me to do, kid?”

 

The captain nods severely.  “Prepare for an influx of patients.  Things could get ugly fast.  Other than that, keep an eye on Khan.  We may still need him.”

 

For the love of God, he wishes his first thought wasn’t Khan pinning his arms behind his back while Jim worked his cock.  Unfortunately, his brain appears to be losing the battle for his body’s blood supply.  His cock twitches, and he gulps, pitching his voice lower.  “Jim, that doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

 

“It’s not,” the captain replies, “but what choice do we have?”

 

McCoy risks a glance over his shoulder and sees Khan’s gaze fixed on them, his head cocked to the side like a kid at a curiosity shop.  He does not like that look.  He also doesn’t like the chills that skitter up his spine because of that look or the fact that he sees Khan’s mouth curl slightly upward after a moment of observation.  He looks back to Jim’s bright blue eyes and sees something dark slip across them.  If he didn’t know Jim better, he’d call that look worried.  But that’s ridiculous.  Jim doesn’t get worried; he just smiles and shrugs off any inconvenience that comes his way.  Seeing Jim so sedate simultaneously makes him worry and makes his groin throb.  Fuck, he fuckin’ hates his life sometimes.

 

But there’s work to be done, so he give the captain a quick pat on the back.  “Good luck, kid.  Don’t get us killed.”

 

Jim flashes a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.  “Don’t worry about it, Bones.  Besides, if we do die, I promise you can take it out on my ass.”

 

The captain races out of Sickbay after that, but McCoy’s throat goes fucking dry.  Yep, he’s hard, no going back, and he’s stuck with his staff, a security team, and the prisoner.  The aforementioned prisoner who is leering like a cat around a mouthful of canary when McCoy turns around.  For one brief moment, he hopes that he’s hallucinating, because Khan looking that maniacal is both terrifying and damn attractive.  Failing that, he hopes that Khan will be content to sit there and look smug.  Maybe, with hell going on around them, he just might get lucky.

 

“You look uncomfortable, Doctor,” Khan says, his eyes sweeping down to the tented front of McCoy’s pants before returning to meet his eyes.

 

Yeah, he doubted he had that spectacular, Jim-Kirk kind of luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review with any questions, comments or suggestion! They make me write faster! :)


	3. Chapter 3

McCoy doesn’t respond to Khan’s comment.  Frankly, it’s because he doesn’t want offer Khan (who already looks far too please with himself) the additional pleasure of calling his bluff.  He’s not a good enough liar to bluff his way out of this situation.  So instead, he sets about preparing Sickbay for an influx of patients should the other ship open fire.  He shoves past the security detail and begins prepping trauma kits, inventorying painkillers and anesthetic, and generally making sure every station is ready while barking orders at his nurses.  By the time he circles back around to the prisoner, his erection has wilted slightly, a fact for which he is eternally grateful.

 

Khan, however, doesn’t look the slightest bit bothered by being left alone with the security detail.  If anything, he looks mildly amused; McCoy just grits his teeth and braces for whatever Khan’s about to throw at him.

 

“I see your predicament has abated,” he says calmly in that rumbling voice of his.  “A pity.  Sexual frustration is a good look on you, Doctor.”

 

For a moment, McCoy isn’t sure if he should feel insulted by Khan’s insinuations or aroused by his attentions.  His body has deluded itself into choosing arousal as the most pertinent course of action, and he won’t lie, he kinda hates himself for the visceral chills that run down his spine and the pool of warmth forming just behind his stomach.  Thankfully, he still has some mild degree of control over his mind, and boy, does he exercise that control to its fullest extent.

 

“So sorry to put a damper on your evening entertainment,” he offers gruffly as he scans Khan with his tricorder and quickly examines the readings.  Anything, really, to keep his eyes off the other man.

 

He very vaguely hears Khan draw a soft breath, just slightly out of sync with the respiration rate he’s recorded.  He’s pleased to get a reaction out of their prisoner that isn’t calm contempt or unflappability.  Unfortunately, that information sends a rush of blood to his groin.  It takes every ounce of his self-control to keep from audibly groaning at the friction of his underwear against his rising prick, which is why McCoy’s not mentally prepared when Khan comments, “We’ll just have to investigate other avenues of entertainment, then.”

 

McCoy can’t help the visible shudder that starts at the top of his neck and runs through his whole body before the sensation settles at the small of his back.  He swallows reflexively, but he doesn’t bother hoping that Khan missed that reaction.  However, he’s spared the humiliation of the security team seeing because the ship lurches moments after that and the alarms start whirring.  McCoy stumbles forward and catches himself on the biobed Khan’s perched on.  He rights himself quickly, does _not_ notice how close he’s landed to Khan’s hips, and turns to the security team.

 

“Go help with securing the deck,” he snaps.  “I’ll put him in isolation.”

 

Though unsure, the security team leader nods, and the group of redshirts rush out of Sickbay. Without another though, McCoy grabs Khan by the crook of his arm and yanks him off the biobed.  The prisoner goes willingly, but the satisfied tilt of his mouth makes the doctor wary.  “So forceful.  That’s quite interesting.”

 

He drags Khan across Sickbay toward the isolation units, and he bites his tongue to keep from replying.  However, the prisoner takes his lack of response as a sign to keep talking.  “I wonder how your captain would respond to this potency you so rely on.  I’m sure he would bend so nicely to your will.”

 

His imagination spins up, ready to provide images paired to Khan’s words, but no, no, no way is he going anywhere near that minefield.  No matter how much his cock wants to pursue that line of thinking, or rather any line of thinking that involves Jim and him stripped to their skin and the nearest flat surface, they’re under attack, and he cannot let himself be distracted.  So he grits his teeth and keeps walking.

 

“No response?  I’m almost disappointed, Doctor.”

 

He jerks to a halt in front of the first isolation unit, a stark, sterile white room with an observation window and an electronic hatch.  He starts setting up a medical override to keep the door on full lockdown unless either he or the captain enter the necessary code, when he feels a sturdy form press against his back, long, narrow, and unyielding.  He feels warmth against his ear before Khan starts talking again.  “Or maybe I’ve misjudged you and your captain.  Maybe you’d rather other arrangement.  Perhaps you’d prefer you captain to bend you over and remind you of your place.”

 

Even as his mouth goes bone dry and his cock pulses against the front of his trousers, McCoy swings his elbow wide, knocking Khan away from him.  He steps quickly, one hand snapping to the prisoner’s shoulder before thrusting him into the wall and keeping him pinned there. 

 

As he finishes typing in the override sequence and his heartbeat slowly drops back to a normal pace, he can’t help be thankful for the mandated self-defense training all Star Fleet personnel must complete.

 

The hatch to the isolation unit hisses as it slides open.  McCoy quickly pulls Khan back from the wall and pushes him into the room as the hatch starts to close.  Once Khan’s set foot over the threshold, his immediately breathes easier.  With the prisoner contained and out of earshot, McCoy can now focus on the task at hand: the attack.

 

He turns and takes a half step back toward the main floor of Sickbay before one hand closes around his wrist and a sturdy arm wraps around his waist.  His eyes go wide as he’s yanked backward, over the threshold of the isolation unit just before the hatch locks with a pressurized hiss.  Before he can comprehend what’s happened, he’s forced forward into the door by the same lean, hard form.  A hand presses around the name of his neck.  Another pins his wrists above his head to the door.  Something warm and firm pushes into the cleft of his ass.

 

“I haven’t finished with you yet, Doctor.”

 

Oh fuckin’ hell, no.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains some very very pressing consent issues. If this is a trigger for you, skip to the end of chapter notes for a brief summary.

McCoy’s skin feels too tight, too hot as Khan grinds forward against his ass.  His muscles twitch as he fights against the other man’s grip.  His instinct is to buck Khan off him, but he can feel the cold metal of the broken cuffs searing his oversensitive flesh.  It serves as a potent reminds of exactly how strong Khan is.  He stills himself, and Khan hums contently against his skin.  His erections strains against the front of his pants, pressed firm against the hatch, and he moans, long and low and so painfully needy it’d shame him if he weren’t so riled up.

 

Behind him, Khan snickers, presses his nose into the hair behind McCoy’s ear, and breathes in deeply.  “I knew you would like this, being claimed.  I can smell it on you.  You’re rank with it.”

 

Khan slowly rolls his hips and bites McCoy’s neck.  He closes his eyes and tries to pretend that he’s not arching his back and pushing back against Khan.  That he’s not goddamn presenting to the bastard.  Fuck, the constant pressure feels so damn good, though.  The feeling of a cock pressing into him is damn intoxicating.  And dammit, he’s a doctor, not a fuckin’ saint.  It’s been too damn long since he’s been touched by another human being, much less shoved against the nearest surface and taken.  He bites his lip to keep any other errant sounds out, but Khan is so damn persistent.

 

“Don’t think you can hide anything from me, Doctor.  I knew from first sight what you needed what a good.  Rough.  Fuck.”  He punctuates each word with a sharp thrust, a painfully tempting imitation.  “All those lovely little noises are just a bonus.”  The hand against the back of his neck disappears and reappears on his hip, sliding around and cupping his hard cock through his trousers.  Fuck, he doesn’t hump forward into Khan’s open palm before the hand strokes down and grips his balls.  He squeezes his eyes tight and presses his forehead into the cold metal door, hoping that might ground him.  He tries to breathe through it, but his body has ideas of its own.

 

Not content with the physical evidence resting in his palm, Khan keeps talking.  “What would your captain think if he could see you now?  His pet physician at my mercy, cock hard and all but begging like a bitch in heat.  Like the whore you are.”

 

McCoy tries to breathe, but his chest feels so damn tight.  His heart is hammering.  His dick is weeping in his pants--he’s surprised there’s not a wet spot growing against the front of his trousers.  His body’s giving him every signal to just surrender and hold on for the fuck of a lifetime, but he’s too damn stubborn.  He shouldn’t want this--shouldn’t find the prospect of being trapped in his own damn isolation unit with a psychopath so deliciously arousing--but he does, and he can’t make sense of the mixed signals firing in his brain.  And Khan isn’t giving him an inch of leeway, pulling on his balls that teases the border of pain and pleasure and bruising his wrists in his sprawling grasp.  He can’t so much a squirm without being reminded of his perilous position.

 

“Personally,” Khan whispers against the shell of his ear, “I think you’ve set your sights a little low.  With your unique mix of stubborn submission and rampant authority issues, I think you could do better, Doctor, than a man who looks through you instead of at you.  You deserve, I think, a man of will take what he wants.  To put you where you belong.”

 

“Please.”

 

Khan growls in his ear. “Say it again.”

 

His eyes fly open.  Fuck, he did not just say that.  He did not just fucking ask Khan to---  No, he wouldn’t have.  He couldn’t have.  But his twitching cock, and ragged breath, and clenching buttocks all say otherwise.  He whines deep in his throat as Khan’s fingers trail over his erection teasingly before he’s slammed forward into the door again.  “Again,” Khan orders.

 

He closes his eyes and prays he’ll be able to look at himself when this is all over because self-respect be damned, he’s about to lose it.  “Please,” he says again, this time louder.

 

“Please what?”  Khan demands as he tugs McCoy off the door and slams him into a smooth patch of wall.

 

“Please fuck me,” he gasps in an enthralling mix of pain and pleasure.

 

Without another word, Khan’s free hand unfastens McCoy’s trousers and tugs down both pants and underpants until his dick springs free and his ass spills over the top of the waistband.  Khan’s fingers trailing over his throbbing length and covering themselves in pre-come before sliding to the globes of his ass.  He shudders as two fingers briefly circle his hole.  He shouts when they push in with little preamble, working deep and hard and fast.  It’s painful, too tight and too dry, but he can’t help the way his hips buck forward.  And after a few rough thrusts, when Khan presses on his prostate with cruel precision, McCoy moans and groans like the closeted slut he is and his come splatters against the wall.

 

Everything happens too damn fast.  He’s lightheaded and loose-limbed from such a quick orgasm, and afterward, Khan keeps lazily scissoring his fingers, occasionally grazing his prostate just to make McCoy thrash.  Slowly, McCoy pries open his eyes, only to meet a set of wide, awe-struck blue eyes through the observation window.  He freezes as arousal and panic thrum through his veins. 

 

It’s Jim.  Jim is standing on the other side of the glass, gaping at him after Khan’s just fingerfucked him to the fastest orgasm of his life.  Why else would Khan have moved him, he realizes belatedly.  He probably wanted Jim to see the whole thing.

 

He’s blushing immediately, but he just can’t look away from Jim even as Khan keeps methodically opening him.  His spent cock throbs.

 

“Captain,” Khan finally says, though he sounds nothing short of pleased with himself.  “So good of you to finally join us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a brief recap for anyone who skipped ahead: Trapped in the isolation unit, Khan dirty talks McCoy into such a dizzying state of arousal that McCoy begs Khan to fuck him. Khan proceeds to roughly finger McCoy until he comes against the wall. As McCoy comes down off his high, he opens his eyes and sees Jim staring back at him through the observation window.
> 
> Please review! I'm hoping to get the last chapter up tomorrow :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter got darker than I intended, but Khan decided to up the anti. You have been forewarned.

As soon as Khan speaks those taunting words, Jim’s expression shifts.  His eyes narrow, his mouth tightens, his posture stiffens.  McCoy’s seen this look on Jim before; he adopts this stance whenever he’s trying to portray the calm and composed captain he’s supposed to be.  McCoy would say he’s doing a good job of it, but he can see fire raging in Jim’s eyes, burning through his poker face.  A substantial part of him wishes that fury didn’t make his stomach drop.  An even bigger part of him wishes Khan would kindly extract his fingers from his oversensitive hole.  As if sensing his thoughts, Khan scissors his fingers, stretching McCoy’s hole wide and slipping in a third finger.  The burn makes him hiss.

 

“Let him go, Khan,” Jim says over the intercom as his jaw twitches.  McCoy is loathed to admit it, but anger looks damn good on Jim. 

 

Fuck, he shakes his head and looks away.  He’s worn too thin to keep those completely unnecessary thoughts at bay.  Khan, in turn, chuckles and twists his fingers as he drags them over his abused prostate.  He whimpers and tries to rock forward, away from the intrusive hand, but his groin is already pressed against the cold metal wall and the lines of his cooling cum.  He winces against the cold slime, but his cock makes another valiant attempt to rise.  Fuck, he needs to get his priorities sorted out and stop thinking with his penis.

 

“But, captain, we’re having such good fun getting to know each other,” Khan says in that goddamned voice of his.  He hears the other man spit and feels it impact at the top of his ass before it slides down his crack to where Khan’s fingers press into him.  The spit makes the next thrust a little smoother, but it’s about as effective as a light drizzle in the dessert.  Khan hums when he clenches around the intrusion and spits again, just for shits and giggles.

 

McCoy doesn’t need to look up to know Jim is livid.  “I swear to God, let him go, or I’ll--“

 

“You’ll what, captain?”  Khan asks as his other hand slips down to massage his testicles.  “Charge in here guns blazing in less than the second it would take me to snap the good doctor’s neck?”

 

McCoy shivers.  He should not find threats of death arousing.  He should not be standing here and letting Khan take what he wants.  He should not be struggling to muster a second erection for this psychopath who has him, quite literally, by the balls.  Fuck, he is so fucking fucked, so fucked up.  If he gets out, he’ll be lucky if he can talk himself out of some much-needed therapy.

 

“Besides,” Khan continues with the same infuriating amusement in his voice, “why should I stop when he’s so clearly enjoying himself?”

 

To punctuate the question, Khan lightly presses on his prostate while firmly tugging his balls away from his body as they reflexively tighten.  He can’t stop the upward arch of his neck, the way his eyes flutter open, and his mouth gapes with a throaty moan.  Even if his dick is being…well…dickishly soft, he can’t deny that the torturous touch feels damn good.

 

Jim gapes at him again from the other side of the glass.  He wants to look away, pretend Jim can’t read his every reaction to Khan’s movements, pretend he doesn’t see hurt coloring Jim’s eyes.  But the intensity of Jim’s gaze makes him squirm.  The motion jostles Khan’s hands just so and makes him whine again.  His cheeks flush red.  He’s so beyond fucked.

 

“Why hasn’t he done anything but beg for more?  Why isn’t your good doctor so much as fighting back?”

 

Because he’s being held down, that’s why.  But…Khan already has two hands on him.  He looks up and sees his crossed wrists braced against the glass, held there by nothing but his own will.  That knowledge should reignite the fire in him, but it doesn’t.  It makes him slump forward, hang his head, look anywhere but at his best friend.  He doesn’t want to risk catching a glimpse of his reflection in the glass.

 

Behind him, Khan makes a contented noise and slips his fingers out of McCoy’s ass.  He can hear the quick release of a zipper.  He can feel warmth rolling off Khan’s now-exposed groin.

 

“What do you want?” he hears Jim ask, his voice rough from something McCoy can’t identify.  Much as he wants to, he can’t force himself to look up and see whatever strange mix of emotions is playing on Jim’s face.  He wants the floor to swallow him.

 

He feels Khan press his engorged length against his backside, and his eyes go wide.  From touch alone, he can tell the cock is massive, longer and thicker than anything he’s ever taken.  His heart pounds quickly in his chest, the tingling sensation of arousal held in check by a quick surge of liquid fear.  Fuck, even with extensive preparation and all the lube in the world, he couldn’t take that cock.  And doesn’t that thought thrill him.

 

“I think it should be fairly obvious at this point, Captain,” Khan teases.  “The only remaining question, then, is what would you do to stop me?”

 

“Anything.”

 

McCoy’s eyes dart up.  Jim looks pale, and his eyes are wild with too much raw emotion for McCoy to interpret, but his jaw is set.  Oh, he hates that look, the look Jim gets before he’s about to do something incredibly stupid. 

 

“Jim--“ he starts to say, but Khan silences him by shoving three fingers into his mouth.  He twists his head away from the intrusion, but Khan wraps his other hand around the back of his neck, keeping him facing forward and silent.

 

“Anything?” Khan muses as he runs his fingertips over McCoy’s tongue.  He’ll deny it, but his instinct to start sucking is damn near impossible to ignore.

 

Jim briefly looks from Khan to him and back again.  With a nervous gulp, he nods.  “Anything.”

 

He doesn’t need to look to know Khan is smirking in malicious glee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story has taken such a sharp left turn that I have no idea what to have Khan make our boys do. I have a few vague notions but I'm not settled on any of them. So... if you have any requests or suggestions, PLEASE leave me a review with your suggestion. I'm open to just about anything at this point.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your suggestions! Really, you all have truly filthy minds :)
> 
> CHAPTER EXPANDED 8/14
> 
> Sadly, no real smut in this part, but I wanted to give you something before the weekend is out.

“I’ll require some specific supplies,” Khan says.  “Lubricant, medical grade restraints, and a muscle relaxant.  Kindly fetch them.”

 

He can see Jim swallowing, trying to keep his face neutral, failing miserably.  “I don’t know where they are,” Jim mutters.

 

Khan hums.  “Perhaps our good doctor can help.” 

 

With purposeful slowness, Khan extracts his fingers from McCoy’s mouth.  He keeps his eyes forward despite how much he wants to be anywhere but pressed up against the glass with a psychopath behind him and his best friend before him.  “Jim--” he starts.

 

Khan pinches the flesh where his neck joins his shoulder; he lurches from the heady pain.  “Instructions, Doctor.”

 

His breath is ragged, and his throat’s dry.  Jim’s staring at him, but there’s so any conflicting emotions playing on his face that he doesn’t know what he’s looking at.  Jim’s hands are balled at his sides, the knuckles white.  He has to get this over with, and quickly too, before it becomes cemented in his memory and he can’t drink away the shame.  For the moment, he can only trust Jim’s cockamamie belief in no no-win situations. 

 

“There’s a storage cupboard to your left.  You can find everything there.  Muscle relaxant hypos have a blue caps.”

 

Jim nods at him through the observation window.  For the moment, he looks beaten, shoulders drawn tight against a defeated slump, fists ready to deliver one last attack, eyes rapidly reddening.  But beneath all that, he can see Jim’s anger.  There’s still fight left in him.  Good. McCoy doesn’t know how much he could take if he couldn’t see the flash of defiance in Jim’s eyes.

 

Khan makes a huff of impatience, and his saliva-slick fingers thrust back into McCoy’s hole.  He groans at the intrusion, and arousal assaults him once more.  Jim’s gaze shifts to Khan.  The other man smirks against his neck and says “You’d better hurry, Jim.  Before I lose patience.”

 

The threat is low, but Jim moves out of view of the observation window to grab Khan’s supplies.  While he’s gone, Khan takes a moment to tear off McCoy’s shirt--he hadn’t realized he was still mostly clothed, and the rush of cold air against his skin makes him nauseous.  Khan press soothing kisses along his shoulder in some perverted image of intimacy.  Unfortunately, his cock’s finally regained some of its stamina and it’s just beginning to harden despite the flares of pain shooting up from his ass.  He keeps his hips still and does his best not to groan or whine.

 

He closes his eyes, grimaces into the crook of his elbow, and tries not to think about what’s about to happen.  That he doesn’t know what Khan has up his sleeve.  That he doubts Khan will be so giving as to let either him or Jim walk out of this room unscathed.  That he doesn’t know if he’s more afraid for Jim’s sake than his own.    

 

“What are you gonna do?” he asks, his voice rough from his cries.  Khan spreads his fingers, forcing a gasp from his throat.  “Please,” he begs, “just tell me.”

 

He doesn’t expect much more than a chuckle from Khan in response.  Why should he?  Khan has the element of surprise on his side, all the cards in this game, all the control.  He’s got no reason to give McCoy any concession.  He should expect nothing.  He does get a little amused hum and tiny bites against his skin.  Even a soft chuckle.  Then, Khan whispers against the shell of his ear, “I’m going to give you the one thing you crave most in this world, Doctor McCoy.  And then, I’m going to take it away.”

 

His eyes go wide, his muscles tense, his sphincter clenches around Khan’s fingers.  Khan grins.  He can probably smell McCoy’s fear. 

 

Silently, he pleads.  Please, don’t.  Please, don’t do this.  Please, don’t do this to Jim.  But he doesn’t speak the words.  He may not be a god-damned strategist, but he knows not to show Khan his entire hand.  Somehow, he thinks the man knows anyway.

 

A moment later, Jim reappears in the observation window.  In the space of a few minutes, McCoy can see that Jim’s managed to rein in his emotions.  His face is smoother now, and his eyes are fixed forward, determined to get through whatever hell Khan’s concocted.  Which is a damn good thing because at this point, he’s the farthest from calm he’s ever been.  The only thing that’s keeping his legs locked in place is sheer panic.

 

“Do you have the supplies?” Khan asks darkly.

 

Jim nods and holds up the requested items.  The hypo has a dark blue cap.  The medical restraints are wide and padded, but if used properly, they won’t give an inch.  There are three tubes of medical lubricant; he can’t help but silently thank Jim for the foresight.

 

“Good,” Khan continues.  “Darken the observation glass, then come inside.  Slowly.”

 

Again, Jim nods and steps to the side to work at the console.  Khan takes advantage of the time to twist his fingers against McCoy’s prostate.  His cock jumps from the sensitivity.  He whimpers.  Khan makes that infuriating noise of amusement.  “Oh, Doctor, you are divine.  Responsive, eager, and so delightfully afraid.  You could flourish with a crew who knew what to do with your talents.”

 

“Fuck you,” he bites back, but there’s no venom to his response.  If he were less strung out, he’d say something about being a doctor, not a whore.  As it is, the half-hearted snap is the strongest thing he’s got in his arsenal that isn’t “Fuck me, please.”

 

“Have it your way,” Khan says in his ear.  “Just remember, this is what you wanted.”

 

Before McCoy can so much as raise an eyebrow in question, the glass in front of him goes opaque and the hatch slides open with a whir.  Jim steps into the isolation room slowly, his hands held high to show he’s unarmed.  Khan nods and the hatch closes with a hiss, leaving the three men in the cold, still room.  

 

Khan extracts his hand from McCoy’s hole and holds it out to the captain.  “The hypospray.”

 

Without a word, Jim tosses it over.  He keeps his hands carefully at his sides and waits.  Smart man, Jim.  Khan’s faster, stronger, and more clever than the two of them combined.  Even though it pains him to admit it, they’re more likely to survive by complying.

 

Khan holds the hypospray in front of McCoy’s face, the medical serial number and information facing towards him.  “Confirm.”

 

McCoy squints at the tiny writing but ultimately makes out the numbers.  “It’s the right one, a basic muscle relaxant that induces full-body laxness.”

 

“Excellent,” Khan comments before ripping off the cap with his teeth and plunging the needle into his neck.  He bites back a curse at the sting, but he’s honestly not surprised at this development, but from the way Jim’s eyes suddenly widen, he assumes the captain hadn’t seen this coming.  Khan then pushes him forward and he stumbles across the room into Jim’s arms.  Jim catches him quickly, his face pressed into Jim’s chest, but he can already feel numbness setting in in his fingertips and toes.  “Take him to the cot, strip him, and bind his hands with the restraints.”  He can feel Jim start to protest, but Khan cuts him off.  “In less than two minutes, your doctor will be fully limp and utterly useless.  I suggest you work quickly.”

 

With a grunt, Jim shifts him, sling’s McCoy’s arm over his shoulder and moves quickly to the utilitarian cot bolted to the floor at the far corner of the room.  He settles onto the bed, but his guts roil the entire way.  He’s red from his hairline to his torso, flush with embarrassment at the sorry state he’s in, but there’s no easy escape solution.  He’s not getting out of this mess, and that certainty is eating at him, making his rapidly-numbing muscle twitch.  Jim, thankfully, doesn’t make the situation worse.  He keeps his eyes on McCoy’s as he pulls away the tatters of his shirts, tugs off his boots, pants, and underwear.  His touch is solid and perfunctory.  McCoy doesn’t know if he’s glad of Jim’s disinterest or sickened by it.

 

“You okay, Bones?” Jim asks.

 

He’s not sure if “cold” or “I’m fuckin’ naked.  What do you expect?” are acceptable answers.  They’ll only make Jim fuss over him more, and that’ll only make his damn cock even more persistent.  He feels ridiculous right now, minutes away from full body paralysis, with a raging hard on.  Even as his body gives way to laxness, arousal pulses hot and heavy through his groin.  So exposed here.  He tries not to focus on Khan hovering at the foot of the bed, leering openly.  When Khan catches his eye, his grin gets broader.

 

“Hey,” Jim says quickly, snapping his attention away from Khan.  “Everything’s gonna be alright, Bones.  I’m gonna take care of you.”

 

Fuck, sometimes he hates how damn sincere Jim is.  How big and hopeful his eyes get.  Fuck, sometimes Jim makes him feel like a dirty old man.  He has to look away, down at his hands in his lap.  He can’t feel them anymore.  Won’t be long til he can’t even sit up.  Can’t do anything but blink and drool while Khan… Shit, he doesn’t want to think about that anymore.  It’s one thing to fantasize about it.  This is another thing entirely.

 

“ ‘m spposd ta taycara you,” he mumbles. 

 

Jim takes his hands and gives them a quick squeeze, a soft comfort.  His stomach drops.  From the corner of his eye, he can see the  cuffs denting the mattress.  Right, this is all building to something.

 

“I gotta put these on you now,” Jim says quietly, his voice rough.  “Okay?”

 

He can’t bring himself to look at Jim, can’t admit to himself that this is about to happen, but he nods anyway.  He can feel Jim de-stress immediately.  Something about that makes him breathe easier.  Jim needed this mangled, warped form of consent as much as he does.

 

With careful motions, Jim slides the cuffs over his wrists, cinches the binding tight, and clips his hands together.  With a hand between his shoulder blades, Jim lays him down on the cot.  His pulse is hammering in his ears.  He stares up at the ceiling, past Jim.  With his last moments of motion, he rolls onto his side and curls up his legs to guard his groin.  Then, everything is numb.

 

“Good,” Khan says slowly from his position at the foot of the bed.  Undoubtedly, he’s got a clear view of McCoy’s abused asshole.  He tries not to let that knowledge get to him.  “Now, captain, prepare him.”


	7. Chapter 7

_“Now, captain, prepare him.”_

 

At Khan’s words, every milliliter of his blood rushes southward.  Luckily his vocal cords are paralyzed or he might just whimper at the prospect.  Fuckin’ hell, if his muscles were still working, he’d be running.  He doesn’t think he could stand that.  After all, Jim’s his best friend first, and his hopeless crush second.  He doesn’t think he can take it.

 

From the corner of his eye, he can see Jim’s hands ball into fists.  He’s tensing for a fight he can’t win.  He wants to tell the bastard to just grow a pair and do it already, but his damn voice is trapped in his throat.

 

“Lube?” Jim asks, his jaw tight and his eyes flaring.

 

Khan shakes his head.  “Consider it a reward for a job well done.”

 

Jim doesn’t say anything.  Just slowly loosens his hands and climbs onto the cot behind McCoy.  He can feel the synthetic fibers of Jim’s trousers against the backs of his thighs.  His breath quickens as Jim nudges him into position, on his front, knees under him, ass in the fucking air.  If he could so much as budge, he’d bury his face in the mattress and squeeze his eyes shut until it’s all over. But he’s stuck with his head slumped to the side and his eyes blinking automatically.  What’s worst, he can see Khan, standing a few steps away, trailing his long fingers over his long cock—fucking hell that thing is more terrifying than he imagined.

 

Jim spits. Twice.  The saliva lands hot against his asshole, immediately soothing the abused flesh.  There’s a soft sucking sound, and then, something slippery trails over his ass.  It’s Jim’s fucking fingers.  His stomach drops and heat surges through him.  Jim Kirk is finally touching him, about to fuck him with his fucking fingers, and he doesn’t know whether he should whoop or cry.  A single digit presses through the ring of abused muscles.  He tenses at the jolt of pain.  Jim’s other hand rubs along the small of his back and he makes a shushing sound.  “Relax, Bones.  I’m not gonna hurt you.”

 

He knows that, dammit.  He wants to scream that he’s no virgin.  He’s done this numerous times before, been on both sides, but he can’t fucking help it.  He’s twitching and tensing despite the relaxant.  He doesn’t want to think about how tight he’d be without it. 

 

“Hmm, he doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself, Captain.  Use your mouth instead.”

 

Jim’s motions freeze, and he curses under his breath.  McCoy blinks, but his mind is racing along a thousand lines of thought, but his only conclusion is—

 

His train of thought derails when a hot mouth slurps at his balls.  Oh fuck.  He whines in the back of his throat and feels his penis fill with blood.  Meanwhile the tongue laves his testes without a hint of teeth, and his sack tightens reflexively.  The mouth and tongue slowly trail upward, over his prenium and leaving a wake of saliva.  McCoy’s breath hitches as the mouth—he can’t think about who is attached to that mouth or he will explode—sucks on one ass cheek, then the other.  He feels calloused hands spread him, and his eyes flutter closed.  Too much.  Way too much.

 

Then the tongue, firm and warm and wet, glides over his hole, soothes the sensitive skin, flicks insistently until the muscle unclenches and fingers slip inside him.  His nerves light with fire and electric arousal.  He wants to thrust his hips back, arch his back, and moan like a cheap whore.  Because, dammit, it feels amazing.  Jim feels amazing.  He wants to rock his hips forward into the mattress until he comes, rug burns and paralyzed muscles be damned.

 

Suddenly, another hand slides down his back, from the name of his neck to the crack of his ass where Jim’s hair is tickling his skin.  Khan, he realizes through the haze of pleasure.  As soon as he feels it, the hand’s gone, but then Jim groans against his sphincter which sends another wave of hot need through his veins.  Khan must be grabbing Jim’s hair. 

 

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, Captain.”

 

“Trying to…follow orders,” Jim replies, his voice gravelly and worn.

 

There’s a beat of silence so pointed that he can almost see Khan’s malignant smirk.  Something cold and solid drops onto the small of his back: a tube of lubricant.  Only the paralytic numbing his muscles keeps him from shuddering.

 

“As I said, I reward good work.”

 

Jim draws a short breath before he releases his grip on McCoy’s ass and picks up the lubricant.  McCoy can hear the sharp snap of the seal and a moment later, Jim is spreading cool slick across his hole and pushing in once more.  This time, his instinct is to press his hips back until Jim’s finger is fully seated.  If only he could move.

 

He feels the mattress dip beside his head.  His eyes blink open to find Khan leering down at him, still teasing his shaft with deliberate slowness.  Up close, Khan’s dick looks even more menacing: easily nine inches long and thick as his wrist around the base.  His mouth goes dry.  Fuck, he shouldn’t want it, but right now, he just needs to put that prick I his mouth and choke on it.  Fuck his fucked-up priorities.

 

With his other hand, Khan strokes along McCoy’s lax jaw and up behind his ear until his eyes flutter shut again.  He’s practically purring, lost in the comforting sensation of hands on his body.  When Khan speaks, it startles him.

 

“Something on your mind, Captain,” he sneers.  “You’ll make yourself bleed if you keep biting your lip.  You should speak.”

 

He wishes he could look over his shoulder and catch a glimpse of that: Jim straining to keep silent.  Fuck the image playing in his head does wonders for his already over-stimulated libido.  He doesn’t know how many fingers Jim’s pressed into him, but with the slick and the fucking rim job to ease the way, he just wants more.  He pictures Jim’s eyes dark with arousal, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his neck arched.

 

Jim brushes against his prostate, and he whimpers.

 

That’s what does it.

 

“Fuck, Bones,” Jim gasps in awe.  “How the fuck are you fucking real?  You just keep taking it.”

 

As if to punctuate his point, Jim scissors in the index finger of his off hand and spreads his asshole as wide as it will go.  And his eyes roll back into his head.  His cock twitches.  He whines at the burn and strains to press back against Jim. 

 

“I bet you could put your hand inside of him,” Khan offers.

 

“Fuck,” Jim curses.  “Don’t wanna hurt him.”

 

Khan shifts in his seat.  “But, Captain, whenever else will you get the chance.  Here lies your good doctor, open and willing.  Why not take what you’ve always wanted?”

 

Jim’s hands freeze immediately.  He can practically hear his head snap up toward Khan.  He can feel the tension as the two men stare at one another, like he’s not even in the room.

 

“No,” Jim finally replies as he starts to remove his fingers.

 

McCoy doesn’t know if he wants to applaud Jim for being a better man than he is or slap him for being too damn noble when he just wants Jim to fuck him.  No, that may not be entirely accurate, but as far as Jim Kirk is concerned, he’ll take what he can get.

 

Khan’s hand seizes around Jim’s wrist, stopping him from pulling out all the way.  “You try my patience, Captain.  You have two choices: either fuck the doctor, or stand aside and I will.  And before you make up your mind, remember how ardently you care for your crew and how frail and flawed each and every one of them is in my eyes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support as I've tried to put this fic together. We're closing in on the big event (YAY!) so please leave me any feedback you can. Comments make me write faster. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the moment you've all been waiting for ;)

For a solid minute, the isolation unit is filled with a heady, tense silence.  He can’t see a damn thing because Khan’s cock is obstructing his view when it should be fucking his throat.  He can feel Jim’s fingers seated in his ass, but they’re not pressed deeply enough.  He can only assume that the two men above him are glaring at one another, Jim slowly discovering that there are such things as no-win situations (and he doesn’t want to dwell on the fact that Jim considers fucking him a deplorable idea) and Khan steadily pressing Jim into a corner he can’t squeeze out of.  Just get on with it already, the last remnant of his sanity pleads, just let Jim fuck him and be done with it so he can crawl into his office and nurse his bruised ego and bruised asshole in peace.

 

Finally, Jim sighs and slowly pushes his fingers back in, this time with a third stretching his hole.  His eyes flutter closed and his breath comes quickly as Jim efficiently opens him up and spreads more lube across his tender flesh.  Khan returns to his previous position, one hand working his cock, the other stroking McCoy’s hair.

 

“You may move on, Captain,” Khan commands.  “I assure you, he’s wide enough to take you.”

 

By the way Jim’s fingertips stutter across his prostate, he can tell Jim heard Khan’s clever focus on the word “you”.  McCoy doesn’t know if the thought makes his dick twitch or shrivel.  Damn him for his morbid masochism, because the thought of Khan pushing into him is deliciously terrifying.

 

Jim doesn’t say anything in response, but he feels him shift closer to McCoy’s backside.  Hears the quick zip of a zipper pulling down.  Fingers slip out of him.  The squish and splat of lube on skin.  Two hands settle on his hips, one dry, one slick.  His mouth goes dry when he feels the head of Jim’s penis nudge his hole.  Thumbs stroking tiny circles over his hipbones.  “Just relax, Bones.  I’m not gonna hurt you.”

 

If he had the necessary motor control, he’d nod his understanding and press his hips back to Jim’s pelvis.

 

Jim rocks forward ever so slowly.  He’s breached.  Pushed wider and wider until he feels curls tickling his cheeks.  He forgets how to breathe.  His eyes water at the stretch.  Either it’s been far too long since he was last fucked or Jim is bigger than he imagined.  Possibly both, knowing his luck. 

 

Khan’s hand slips down from his hair and under his chin, propping him up to look at Khan’s icy leer.  He feels the look press through every cell of his body, and it leaves him shaking from more than the cold.  Khan grins and asks, “How does it feel?”

 

Jim remains stubbornly silent for a moment, his hips twitching against the unnatural strain to keep still.

 

“Come now, Captain.  You know how this works.  Don’t be difficult,” Khan replies, his hand clenching around McCoy’s jaw, pressing his neck into an uncomfortable angle.

 

Jim draws a long, ragged breath and slowly rolls his hips back and forward again in a smooth cycle.  “Feels good.  Hot and slick and loose and tight at the same time.  Fuck me.”

 

Khan’s fingers slink over McCoy’s jaw, keeping his staring up at the psychopath.  He can see the depraved enjoyment in Khan’s eyes, the leer pulling at his mouth.  The look makes him tense subconsciously, and Jim groans above him.  He wishes he could look over his shoulder and watch as Jim’s eyes flutter closed and his mouth gapes open.  He wishes this was all very different, but then Jim grazes across his prostate and his back arches on its own. 

 

“Fuck you take it so damn well,” Jim gasps.  “If you could talk, I bet you’d be whimpering.”

 

Khan hums.  “You heard him earlier, Captain.  Begging for something inside him.”

 

Jim jerks on his hips faster.  He can feel the fingerprints starting to bruise his hips.  He hears and feels the rhythmic smack of Jim’s balls against his own, and his eyes roll back.  Khan’s thumb strokes along his lips and pushes inside, moving at a slow counterpoint to Jim’s near-frantic pace.  His vocal chords are vibrating.  He’s making some low moan, punctuated whenever Jim thrusts forward into him.

 

Suddenly, Jim’s clothed chest is flush against his back, pressing him face first into Khan’s lap.  He can feel Khan’s dick pressed against the length on his flushed cheek, Jim’s mouth hot and slick against his neck.  Jim knocks his hips forward and his knees slide out from under him until his front’s pressed into the mattress.  His heart hammers in his chest and his breath wheezes under Jim’s weight.

 

“Come on, Bones,” Jim hisses in his ear, taking a moment to lick around the shell of his ear.  “Beg for me like you begged for him.”

 

He whines around Khan’s thumb but he can’t force a single articulate word from his lips.  Khan, the perverted bastard, grinds his cock against his face.  He feels a line of slick left in it’s wake.  If he had more mobility, he’d turn his head and put that damn cock where it belongs: in his mouth.  Instead, he can only turn his head, press closer to Khan, and give Jim more skin to exploit.

 

“Fuck, Bones, I know you can do it.  Show me what you want.”

 

“Yes, Doctor,” Khan quips, taking his thumb out and gripping his cock around the base.  “Show him what exactly a whore like you wants.”

 

He squeezes his eyes shut tight and groans loudly as his hips stutter backward, fucking himself onto Jim’s cock and tenses around the hefty length.  Jim makes the most beautifully lewd moan, surges forward and bites his neck hard enough to draw blood.  He sighs into the pain and feels something prodding against his open lips.  He doesn’t need to look, just opens his mouth a little wider and sucks Khan’s cock into his mouth, and whimpers when Khan takes his head in his hands and starts fucking his throat.  He just keeps his eyes closed and feels as he’s filled from both ends, high on endorphins and a lack of oxygen, and he can only be bothered to hum contentedly and push back onto Jim’s cock.

 

“Bones,” Jim gasps, “not gonna last.”

 

“You heard your Captain,” Khan says as he pulls out of McCoy’s mouth with a wet pop.  “Make it good for him.”

 

He’s so far away he just nods however much his drug-addled body can and swivels his hips.  The shift in momentum, combined with the tight squeeze around his cock do Jim in.  His hips surge forward once, twice, thrice, and then Jim comes with a throaty bellow, emptying his cum into McCoy’s ass.  A moment later, Khan’s hands twist in his hair, and he hears a quiet groan before long lines of warm, wet come splatter across his face.

 

His body thrums with arousal, ready to snap, even as Jim pulls his spent cock.  He whines and tries to follow Jim, but one of Khan’s big hands holds him down at the small of his back, pushing his weeping dick into the mattress pad.  He groans and humps the bed.

 

Khan’s hand trails up his back, through his hair, down over his cum-covered cheek.  Two sticky fingers push between his lips, and he tastes a salty tang on his tongue.  Flush with arousal and shameless lust, he cleans the digits.

 

“Good little slut,” Khan coos as he extracts his fingers.  “Keep yourself occupied while we’re gone.”

 

The soft command makes him rock his hips harder, craving an extra ounce of friction so he can just come already.

 

Slightly out of breath, Jim asks, “We’re going somewhere?”

 

He hears Khan’s footsteps retreat to the hatch.  Hears the soft ding of the electronic lock being undone.  Hears the hiss of the seal opening.  “Come, Captain.  We’ve a starship to take.”


	9. Chapter 9

Then, Khan turns out to be every bit the psychopath McCoy thought he was.

 

Then, the Enterprise is hurtling toward Earth.  And then, it’s not.

 

And then, Jim is…  McCoy doesn’t know how to process the sight of Jim’s corpse in Sickbay.  A few hours ago, he was naked and well fucked in the isolation unit, gasping when a final, stubborn orgasm rocketed through his body.  Thankfully, he’d found a pair of ‘Fleet issue scrubs in the supply closet and had slipped out of the isolation unit unnoticed.  Part of him is glad he didn’t have time to run a dermal regenerator over the bites and bruises Jim left on him.  After a moment of staring at Jim’s paling figure, he realizes that they’re the last touches Jim will ever give him. 

 

He vomits and feels empty after the fact.  He determinedly sits with his back to Jim and notices that the damned Tribble is suddenly breathing.  His eyes go wide as he remembers injecting it with Khan’s blood. 

 

Then, Khan’s back in his sickbay, this time unconscious and being prepped for cryostasis once more.  He takes another sampling of Khan’s blood and leaves the nurses to prepping the body.  Mostly, he doesn’t want to look at Khan’s face and be reminded of that depraved sneer.

 

Then, Jim’s alive.  And awake.  Looking over Jim’s rising heartbeat and respiration rate, he can tell that Jim remembers.  Part of him is glad that the experience wasn’t forgettable, but a larger, much more adamant part readily slaps some sense into his ego by reminding him that, by some miracle, Jim’s alive and on the mend.  Whatever happened before, it doesn’t matter.  He’s got Jim back.  Halle-fuckin-lujah.

 

Over the weeks, as the Enterprise is outfitted for her next mission--five years in deep space; doesn’t that just tickle him pink with glee--McCoy doesn’t see hide nor hair of Jim.  He calls Jim twice once he’s released from the hospital: once to check up on him, once to see if he wants to grab a drink.  Jim doesn’t respond, and McCoy doesn’t push.  He figures after his not-so-near-death experience, Jim is out asserting his will to live on the unsuspecting public.  Good for him, McCoy thinks bitterly as he downs another shot of whiskey.  He didn’t plan on getting plastered, and he knows the resulting hangover is gonna kick his ass, but for the last few weeks, all he’s wanted to do is forget what it felt like having Jim inside him.  After all, if he’s forgotten, he can’t possibly miss it.  Right?

 

The next time he sees Jim, it’s the day before launch.  He’s out on his own once again, but he gave himself a credit limit tonight and it’s well under how much it takes to get him good and sloshed.  He’s sipping on quality bourbon and relishing the taste of non-replicated liquor when someone slides onto the bar stool next to him.  He has to do a double take to recognize the guy in the leather jacket and whiskers sitting next to him is actually Jim.  Jesus, what rock has he been hiding under?  He doesn’t remember ever seeing Jim with stubble, much less a beard, and McCoy can’t help but gape.

 

When Jim notices him staring, his shoulders tense up and he shifts like he’s about to run.  But Jim doesn’t run from an uncomfortable situation; he judiciously applies his charm and makes the situation forget how to be anything but stutteringly flattered.  “Bones,” Jims says, but it lacks the kid’s usual energy.

 

He takes in the dark bags under Jim’s eyes, the loose fit of the jacket across his shoulders, his uncertain not-smile.  In the past weeks, he’s thought about what he’d say when he saw Jim again, if it would be best to be unerringly polite or needlessly defiant or if he could pretend everything had gone back to normal.  He still hasn’t made up his mind on what to say until he opens his trap.

 

“You’ve got shit on your face.”

 

So, needlessly defiant it is then.

 

And Jim’s not-smile slips into a grin with a huff of genuine amusement.  Thank fucking God.

 

“Yeah, I’ve been taking advantage of leave.  It’ll be gone by morning.”

 

McCoy nods and looks down at his glass.  “How’ve you been?” he asks, not knowing what else to say.

 

From the corner of his eye, he sees Jim swallow.  “I’ve been better.”

 

The roughness of Jim’s voice takes him back to the isolation unit, to the words Jim whispered in his ear before biting his neck.  He still get little phantom twinges from the bruise that took well over a week to heal.  A surge of heat pools at the base of his spine and he groans under his breath.  Damn his damned inconvenient biology.

 

“Recovery’s a bitch,” Jim laughs, but McCoy can tell it’s forced.

 

With that, McCoy downs the last of his bourbon and waves his credit chip at the bartender to settle his tab.  Jim might believe there aren’t any no-win situations, but McCoy’s not brave enough or pigheaded enough to deal with Jim dancing around the problem while he’s got an ill-timed hard-on.  It only throws the fact he hasn’t been able to forget a single detail of what happened, or that he’d love a chance for that to happen again. 

 

“Where you going?” Jim asks, his tone purposefully casual, but the words are a little too rushed to be carefree.

 

“Got an early morning,” he offers without looking at Jim.  “Still got packing to do.”

 

It’s a lie.  Jim knows it’s a lie, but he doesn’t say anything as the barkeep takes McCoy’s credit chip to settle his accounts.  For a tense moment, neither man says a word, not until the barman returns with a beer for Jim and with McCoy’s credit chip.  McCoy turns to leave, but Jim catches his forearm.  He looks at Jim who still isn’t looking at him, but he’s staring at the bar, his normally bright eyes dark with an expression McCoy’s never seen on Jim.

 

“I miss you, Bones, but I don’t know what to do about you and me.  Not anymore.”

 

He glowers down at Jim’s strong grip.  His chest is tight.  “I’ll leave you be,” he says as he starts to pull away.

 

Jim’s grip falters for a moment before restricting around McCoy’s wrist.  “What’re you talking about Bones?”

 

He looks away, can’t face Jim for what he’s about to say.  “I can take a hint. I know when I’m not wanted.”

 

He wants to pull away, run as fast as he can out of this grubby bar room, get as far away as he can before he’s trapped for five years on a tin can in a vacuum with a best friend who won’t even look at him.  Fuck, he’s not drunk enough to deal with this.  Not drunk enough at all.  But try as he might to pull away, Jim holds firm.  He shouldn’t be surprised.  He had finger-shaped bruises on his hips after the fact.  In one of his darker moments, before he was certain that he could wake Jim up, he’d pressed on the purpled flesh and hissed at the pain and bawled at the loss.  No, he doesn’t want to go back to that headspace.

 

Jim’s hand is strong, and after a moment, his other hand slide around McCoy’s clenched fist, slowly kneading the tense flesh until his fingers go lax and his shoulders sag.  He sighs, but his chest feels too damn tight, like he’s being squeezed from the inside out.  When Jim finally coaxes his hand into submission, he eases his fingers in between McCoy’s and caresses his palm with his fingertips. 

 

“How could I not want you?”

 

Jim’s voice is so damn quiet, it almost breaks his heart.  He looks over his shoulder and sees Jim staring up at him, his burning blue eyes bright with emotion.  He’s never seen the kid look so vulnerable, so broken.  Jim swallows, hangs his head, and looks away.  “But after what I did, I--”

 

“No,” he interrupts.  He doesn’t want to hear what Jim’s about to say.  Doesn’t want to let Jim go down that road.

 

“But I--”

 

“No.”

 

“Bones, you can’t possibly--”

 

“Dammit Jim, just stop.  Please, I know what you want to say, but don’t you dare,” he sighs and turns back toward Jim.  He squeezes Jim’s hand.  “It was a no-win situation.”

 

“Bullshit.  I could’ve done something.”

 

“And then where would we be?” He asks, but he doesn’t want to think about the answer to that question.  “Khan knew what he was doing, and he played us both.  If anyone’s to blame, it’s him.”

 

All at once, Jim stands up and flies past him, moving toward the door so quickly that McCoy almost loses sight of him.  He follows behind, out the door and tailing after Jim as he practically runs down the sidewalk.  He’s lucky.  If Jim wanted to be alone, he could out pace him in a heartbeat.  Halfway down the block, he catches up and grabs Jim’s shoulder.  Jim struggles for a moment, and McCoy pushes him backward into a nearby wall, using his mass to hold his friend in place.  Jim’s eyes are glossy, and he looks like he’s choking on unspoken words.

 

“Dammit Jim, don’t shut me out.  If I didn’t want you here, you’d know.”

 

Jim shakes his head and looks down at his feet.  It’s horrible, having to see Jim so completely broken, but he can’t bring himself to look away.  “I wanted it,” Jim finally gasps.  “I should have fought.  I should have done more.  But I couldn’t because the whole time, all I could think was, ‘I’ll never get this chance again.’  And now, I can’t--”

 

McCoy presses his lips to Jim’s.  It’s neither violent nor sweet, but he’s insistent that Jim shut up one way or another, and he likes the simplicity of kissing Jim silent.  His hands cup around the back of Jim’s head and neck, and he feels Jim’s whiskers scrape across his chin and cheek, but he can’t stop kissing Jim.  Because Jim’s kissing back.  Fisiting his hands in McCoy’s shirt and pressing himself against the long line of McCoy’s body, Jim doesn’t let up until they’re both gasping.

 

“Bones,” Jim whispers warily, dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

 

McCoy shushes him, presses another kiss to his temple and whispers back.  “Of course, I want you, darlin’. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALMOST DONE!!! All that's left is a little coda to tie everything together. Please review and I shall write.


	10. Chapter 10

“Mr. Scott,” Jim says the next morning, freshly shaved and back in command gold, “how’s our core?”

 

“Purring like a kitten, Captain,” Scotty replies.  “She’s ready for a long journey.”

 

“Excellent,” Jim responds before racing off across the bridge.  “Come on, Bones.  It’s gonna be fun.”

 

McCoy wants to laugh at Jim’s renewed enthusiasm.  Really, deep down, he wants to be excited that Jim’s back, that their back on the Enterprise.  However, Leonard McCoy is brutally honest by nature, and, well… “Fire years in space.  God help me,” he groans.

 

Still, at least he’s not alone anymore, he thinks as Jim finishes making the rounds of the bridge crew.  In fact, he almost smiles when Jim looks over his shoulder and catches his eye.  Yeah, it’s very nice knowing that after shift today, he can follow Jim back to his quarters and wrap his arms around Jim.  Sure, there might also be some rather efficient stripping beforehand, and some blissed out cuddling after the fact, but knowing Jim’ll be there makes the thought of five years in the black a little less daunting.

 

FIN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it. Thanks to everyone for sticking around and encouraging me to keep going with this fic, especially growl_meow without whom this fic's extended form would not exist (is that sentence in any way grammatically sound?).
> 
> As for what's coming next, I'm entirely open to suggestion. I love Bones, and bottom!Bones so much that I'm thinking of writing an unconnected series of bottom!Bones fics. I've got rough ideas for a Bones/Spoke, a Bones/Chekov (which I think has the ability to be really funny), and a followup Bones/Kirk/Pike to Surprise, Surprise, but I'm always open to suggestions. 
> 
> Until next time! :)


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